’s race to return to global sport: results and prospects on home-ground – The case of

Ashwin Desai & Brij Maharaj

Abstract

The collapse of apartheid in the 1990s saw the rapid re-entry of South Africa into international sporting fields. This move, backed by the African National Congress (ANC) and given Nelson Mandela’s endorsement, was seen as a strategy to attain two objectives; to cut- off the White right wing threat by placating the fears of the White population, and to bring in revenue that would be used to redress the legacy of apartheid sport. This article seeks, through a case study of cricket, to assess the effects of this strategy, especially in relation to the latter goal of redressing inherited socio-spatial inequalities. A key contention of this article is that spatial apartheid and inherited racial boundaries has remained in play, and this has influenced who could be selected to place professional cricket and who is excluded. Two and a half decades since cricketing unity, race is still with us, but so is class.

Keywords: Apartheid; cricket, transformation; quotas; class

Introduction

Sport, which has traditionally been perceived as a recreational and leisure activity, has emerged as a powerful tool for economic development as well as an influential geopolitical force. This approach is seen in the response of the BRICS countries—referring to Brazil,

Russia, India, China and South Africa (see Cornelissen, 2010; Grix and Lee, 2013; Bravo, et al., 2018). The geography of sports has various dimensions, including “links to environment, economy and culture” and is directly connected “to the global political economy and international state system” (De Chano and Shelley, 2004: 185). While issues relating to

“space and place have figured prominently in the earliest sports geography research, but that work typically did not foreground critical analyses of power and subjectivity” (Koch, 2018:

4). There have been some notable recent examples to analyse the critical geographies of sport in a global context (Gaffney; Koch, 2017; Wise, 2015; 2017), and this paper adds to that contribution, from a South African perspective.

Globalisation has influenced an “analysis of sport as part of an emergent global culture, as contributing to the definition of new identities” (Harvey and Houle, 1994, 346).

Furthermore, sport is “also closely related to cultural, racial, ethnic and gender identity” (De

Chano and Shelley, 2004, 185). This has been especially evident in South Africa, in both the apartheid and democratic eras, and a continuity has been the influence of race and politics on sport. Indeed, the international, boycott against South Africa’s participation in global sporting events since the 1960s played an important role in the anti-apartheid struggle (Archer and

Bouillon, 1982; Booth, 2003; 2012).

Apartheid systematically divided people spatially into racially bounded “group areas’

(Maharaj, 1997), and this also had an impact on sport. Into the 1970s the National Party (NP) government under pressure from a global anti-apartheid movement introduced what it termed multi-national games. The designated racial groups, Africans, Coloureds, Indians and Whites would play each other. Today South Africa is another country where apartheid has fallen and sport has been widely hailed as the great unifier illustrating the birth of the Rainbow Nation

(Steenveld and Strelitz, 1998; Höglund and Sundberg, 2008; Desai, 2010). This paper goes beyond the headlines to show how spatial apartheid has remained in force and the impact this has had on breaking down inherited racial boundaries, with specific reference to cricket.

(There was a similar analysis undertaken for rugby by Black and Nauright, 1998). In this context it is noteworthy that the South African cricket team, the Proteas, venerated as the acme of the nation’s sports transformation is populated by Black players who all come from formerly white schools. This phenomenon has led to arguments that South Africa has

replaced race apartheid with class apartheid.

A myriad of sources are drawn upon in this paper. The first author is involved in

Cricket South Africa’s (CSA) structures that deal with transformation. This has allowed

access to debates and discussions that are not normally in the public domain. The core of the

transformation debate centres on how to ensure that youth, provincial and national teams

reflect what is referred to as national demographics. This has led to lengthy debates over the

adoption of racial quotas. The other main data source is newspaper articles, academic papers

and sports books especially (auto)biographies of national sports players, which provided

interesting insights into the politics of transformation with specific reference to the

organisation and administration and organisation of cricket in post-apartheid South Africa.

Reconstruction and Development Post- Apartheid

The ANC government adopted the Reconstruction and Development Programme

(RDP) to address the legacies of apartheid. As Nelson Mandela (inaugurated as President of

South Africa on 10 May 1994) put it, the RDP (a programme of government) represented ‘a

(developmental) framework that is coherent, viable and has widespread support. It is a product of consultation, debate and reflection on what we need and what is possible’ (ANC

1994, Preface). In relation to ‘Sport and Recreation’, the RDP set out in clear language the legacy of apartheid and what steps had to be taken to stimulate transformation and redress:

One of the cruellest legacies of apartheid is its distortion of sport and

recreation in our society, the enforced segregation of these activities and the

gross neglect of providing facilities for the majority of South African people.

This has denied millions of people and particularly our youth the right to a normal and healthy life. It is important to ensure that the sporting and

recreational facilities are available to all South African communities…This

cannot be left entirely in the hands of individual sporting codes or local

communities…Sport and recreation should cut across all developmental

programmes and be accessible and affordable for all South Africans […]

Particular attention must be paid to the provision of facilities and schools and

in communities where there are large concentrations of unemployed youth. In

developing such polices it should be recognised that sport is played at different

levels of competence and that there are different specific needs at different

levels (ANC 1994, 72-73).

While the RDP made promises to redistribute resources to those disadvantaged during apartheid, the macro-economic policy adopted by the ANC government placed boundaries on this. This approach was broadly encapsulated based on the idea of redistribution through growth. This meant that the private sector would be nurtured through lowering corporate tax and the progressive dropping of exchange controls. Whether the political effects of a robust redistributive economic alternative would have stimulated a more profound and deeper transformation is another debate. With cricket essentially an elite sport in South Africa, there certainly is an argument that, in the short term, major shocks to the existing economic model would have impacted negatively on provincial and national cricketing performances. A reduced tax base associated with capital flight would also have left less money in state coffers and sponsor’s budgets for “inessential” ministries like sports. On the other hand, and ironically, the ANC’s moderate economic stance did not mitigate capital flight, and neither did it necessarily translate into greater resources filtering down to cricket’s grass-roots. So, for example, Jeremy Cronin (an ANC Member of Parliament) points out that when leading South African corporates asked that ‘all doors and windows to attract inward investment flows’ be opened, it was hastily complied with and the outcome was ‘the exact opposite…Between 20% and 25% of GDP has been div-vested out of the country since 1994’

(Cronin 2013, 4).

The RDP envisaged that White privilege in sport would be challenged as resources flowed to Black township clubs and schools. Under apartheid Black clubs had to play on torn matting , sans sightscreens and change rooms. White clubs were endowed with facilities that were “first world” and many were supported by lucrative sponsorships. The strictures of apartheid bit hard and there was a huge gulf in playing ability and coaching and other support structures that was carried over into the post-apartheid period. Black clubs that survived apartheid folded as they could not compete with the white clubs. Township schools were no match for the Model “C” (former White schools that charged a fee) and the traditional White private schools in terms of resources and expertise. In this context the expectation was that the state would step in and contribute resources that would progressively level the playing fields. But the state was finding that its resource base was limited and that it had to fund a myriad of programmes from the building of houses to the provision of welfare.

As it turns out, the state’s contribution to sport has been meagre, a point made with rare honesty in 2006 by Deputy Minister of Sport and Recreation, Gert Oosthuizen:

Sport is still being trivialised in this country. To realise the benefits that can

possibly accrue from our sector, we need three things; resources, resources

and more resources. What we need is: infrastructure organisation,

programmes, facilities, equipment and kit; human resources sufficient thereof,

of good quality with an appropriate disposition; and finance that underpins

both infrastructure and human resources...As a Department we have the smallest budget of all national departments. We are committing some R10 per

person per year to the participation of our people in sport and recreation

activities presently. R10 can never make a substantial contribution to

participation rates in sport and recreation... (as quoted in Mbeki 2006, 22).

In the Treasury’s latest report on Sport and Recreation (2018), much emphasis is

placed on ‘nurturing talent and supporting excellence’ but the allocation of bursaries goes to

students who already attend schools providing solid and established sporting coaching and

facilities. They also make the claim that ‘2,500 schools, hubs and clubs are expected to

receive equipment and attire in each year …to facilitate sustainable participation (2018, 13).

It is doubtful whether these targets are actually met.

The state’s response in raising the cash was to suggest dragooning some of the

revenue from ticket sales of professional sport. But sports’ bosses would then put up prices

that would threaten spectator support (The Times, March 30, 2015). Already, attendance at

Premier Soccer League games are paltry and provincial cricket and rugby crowds dwindling.

It is unlikely that in five years’ time there will be a thriving schools cricket league in which outlying areas like Butterworth or Nkandla can compete on decent pitches with skilled coaches and subsidised transport to and from the games. To achieve the game’s expansion beyond its traditional communities of excellence will take vast amounts of money.

Between “Anti-politics” and Elite Racial Nationalism

There are two broad positions that animate the discourse around transformation in

South African cricket. One position is that race in a post-apartheid society should not be taken into account in the selection of provincial and national cricket teams. This is exemplified by the former Proteas coach ’s assertion: ‘We picked the team for cricket reasons and cricket reasons only. I’m not interested in politics. I’ve never been

interested in politics and nor shall I ever want to be’ (The Guardian, February 26, 1999).

During the 1996 World Cup, this position reached its acme when , the chief of

selectors, disapproved of Nelson Mandela phoning the team on the eve of their quarter-final against the West Indies (in Alfred 2012, 62). A sniff of “politics”, even if it was a call from

Mandela, had to be ruled out of cricket. This position does not consider discrimination in selection decisions, sometimes subtly expressed, and at other times plain to see. Thus, it refuses to see that “Whiteness” can play a role in selection and thus focussing on race will help eliminate these barriers to Black achievement. The “anti-politics” position also sees no role in cricket selection decisions redressing the profoundly political selection decisions of the past, where Black people were denied opportunities to play at the highest level because of their race.

Targets and Quotas

The second position on transformation emphasises the meeting of targets and quotas so that an ever more demographically representative team takes the field. At first, quotas and targets were aimed at achieving the inclusion of greater numbers of Black players, which, in the parlance of the time, meant African, Coloured and/or Indian population groups. Coloured and Indian players though comprised the bulk of the Black players, sometimes exceeding their proportion of South Africa’s population. Coloureds make up approximately 8% and

Indians 3% of the South Africa population, so with just a single member of this racial group in the team, substantive equality could said to have been achieved. Conversely, according to the racial bean-counters, when Coloureds and Indians make up say four players in a match day squad, this must flow from a form of privilege, the same privilege that underscores White dominance of the game. Therefore, the broader transformation remit has mutated into an almost exclusive focus on upping the numbers of Black Africans in the team, as defined in

the census (Desai, 2017). This was the position during the presidency of Mtutuzeli Nyoka, a transformation strategy in which broader questions of class privilege became overwhelmed by ‘representivity’ (Bundy 2014, 140).

The “quota-ists” are content that, to some extent, this should come down to giving

Black African players preference in selection based on their race. In other words, if three

positions (as the position currently stands at provincial level) are reserved for Black African

players, even if a White, Coloured or Indian player exists who is objectively a better bowler

or batsman, the quota must be strictly filled with people of the designated race. Interestingly,

it could be argued that the position of the anti-politics, strictly merit-based group and the

position of those seeking to impose quotas in favour of Black Africans, share a striking

common feature. Both neglect to address the workings of class and privilege in cricket

achievement.

Class and Privilege

The link between race and disadvantage in the lives of the players available for

national selection will disintegrate even further into the future. Where will Black African

players come from? South Africa has nurtured a Black middle and upper class who send their

children to Model “C” and private schools. While the numbers are small relative to the Black

African population, it is large enough to start filtering players into provincial and national

squads. Most of the Black African players come straight through schools cricket and into

provincial academies. Cricket in Black African township schools is negligible. It is virtually

non-existent in poor Coloured and Indian schools too, although very present on the streets.

Rather than activism to broaden the scope of the game into township schools, an aggressive

African nationalism, some might even say chauvinism, has arisen to ensure that the small band of Black African, but not necessarily disadvantaged players that come through the ranks get selected into provincial and national teams.

An almost messianic drive has enveloped some cricket administrators to Africanise the game, which in their terms means that teams must reflect the demographics of the country. The noble ideal of redressing past disadvantage risks becoming the inclusion into another faction of the cricketing elite. Many of the “Africanists” in cricket positions, indeed, simply assume all the privileges of office in what the ANC, reflecting on its own trajectory, called ‘the silent shift from transformative politics to palace politics’ (ANC 2012).

To recap there are two positions that have dominated the debate over race and the transformation of cricket post-1990. One is the “race blind” position (pick the best team, no matter the past). The other is what is referred to as the African nationalist position which focuses on the demands that national teams must reflect—based on the demographics of the country. This latter position says very little about township cricket in clubs and schools and makes no demands on government in this respect. The fact that almost all Black African players that play for national teams come from private schools and none from township schools does not matter. In fact, the CSA gives scholarships to promising Black cricketers but these have to be taken up at elite schools further reinforcing the divide between township schools and the formerly white schools (Desai, 2017).

A feature of the transformation debate and associated expectations of Black involvement that is perhaps missing is to what extent cricket was thwarted in Black communities, say in Butterworth in the , and to what extent it was simply never introduced in the first place, as in places like Thohoyandou in . It may be expected that pouring resources into Butterworth would reignite a dormant flame. Introducing cricket to non-playing communities though is a tricky business, even in countries with a much stronger fiscus such as Australia. The game is not easy to understand, the rudiments of take instruction and practice, and played properly and safely, cricket requires large

and exclusive pitches and relatively expensive equipment. Throughout cricket’s history,

because of its prohibitive entry-costs, distinctions between “gentlemen” and “players” have

constantly bedevilled it.

To this, it may be objected that countries like Pakistan, India and the West Indies

possess cricket as a genuinely popular game (Beckles and Stoddart, 1995; Bateman and Hill,

2011). The conveyor belt from village poverty to national colours is full of talent. This is

because cricket in these areas is so historically entrenched that it is the go-to street game for

children (although this has changed in recent times in the West Indies to soccer and

basketball). The jump from prowess between the dustbin wickets of a closed-off street and local club pitch is not so great in these countries, but this is a strong part of grass-roots cricket

culture.

Townships and the Evaporation of Cricket

In contrast, as Odendaal revealed, in the “new” Black African townships of the 1970s,

cricket had largely evaporated:

Cricket in African communities was on its way to extinction by the end of the

apartheid era. The numbers were as low as they had ever been. There was

neither the schools to be nurseries for the future, not the facilities and

resources to sustain the game in comfortable ways. Nor was the climate of

poverty and seething anger in the townships conducive for it to become an

aspect of everyday life. Cricket was virtually disconnected from its roots.

Conditions were not conducive to growth. It was no longer an organic part of

local and popular culture (Odendaal 2003, 303).

This did not mean sport was dead; of the team sports, soccer was overwhelmingly preferred.

To what extent the preference for soccer over ’s Black African

community is because of historical marginalisation or choice is difficult to say. What is

undeniably true is that by the end of the 1980s organised cricket hardly existed in Black

African areas while soccer was (overwhelmingly) the sport of choice. This means that when

cricket authorities and the education department seek to spend resources on cricket equipment

rather than soccer balls, this is often taken as an imposition by young people and is done

without taking into consideration that beyond equipment one needs both coaches and

facilities for the game to be played.

So, for example when the former national coach of the soccer team Ted Dimitru

arranged a soccer development workshop for schools in Soweto in 2006, he found that ‘most

schools can provide only two footballs for their teams that are used for training, as well as

matches [and play] on gravel pitches without proper goalposts and equipment.’ Dimitru went

on to ironically remark: ‘Incredibly, the education department is providing schools with

tennis balls, badminton equipment, cricket bats and rugby balls, despite the fact that the large majority of schools do not have facilities or traditions for such sports. It is hardly surprising that, under such hostile circumstances, the teachers involved in school football have never been offered any basic instruction on coaching’ (as quoted in McKinley 2010, 89).

Transformation and its Discontents

The national cricket team has in the last decade come under scrutiny for its lack of

Black players. Part of the reason for this is a hangover from the first CEO of united cricket

Ali Bacher’s “politicisation” of the game, through his close collaboration with the new ANC

government that involved many claims about the successes of the development programme. This has also hinged on the very success of the team which has emerged as a formidable

force in world cricket. The question may well be asked that if a majority White bowls or diving team failed to distinguish themselves, would they have been under pressure to transform as a general principle. It is arguable whether this would have been pursued with the

same political investment. While we acknowledge the White supremacism inherent in the

idea that Black cricketers are not up to scratch, as seen in some of the selection decisions, an

opposite impulse is also at play. Part of the impulse to de-racialise cricket (and rugby) may

well lie in a wish to share in the glory or at least dilute the message that predominantly White

triumph (given apartheid’s ideology of White supremacy) sends at a political and psychological level. In this context, read the statement of the Transformation Monitoring

Committee (TMC) after South Africa’s defeat in in 1999:

Victory would have created an atmosphere of self-congratulation and euphoria which

would have put beyond examination “traditional” ways of doing things; defeat created

a climate of self-reflection and self-doubt which helped open debate about change and

appropriate directions for the future (TMC 1999).

At the same time, in the light of the way the transition has unfolded, one can see the attraction of former President Thabo Mbeki’s first and second economy thesis: to concentrate on supporting “first world” cricket in elite schools and high-end academies that are de- racialised but only accessible to the rich and hoping that the successes here would encourage more and more Black Africans to take up the sport. This argument is often tied to the fact that the “market” lies in Black African areas and that cricket authorities and big capital would be encouraged to grow the game in these areas.

The response of

In the face of this, how has Cricket South Africa’s (CSA) strategy unfolded?

Officially, the strategy is rather stolid. In 2015, CSA put out a document purporting to point to the way forward in terms of sustainable cricketing structures. Its overall emphasis is on strict accounting from the provincial affiliates to CSA at the top.

To be a cricket administrator today is to be an accounting officer, keeping scorecards of expenditure and reporting timeously to the Head Office (Desai, 2017). But the politics of race refuse to be consigned to a scorecard. In November 2015, a letter was written to CSA by

Black African players (none of whom are presently in the squad) bemoaning the lack of playing time they get when picked for national squads:

The purpose of this letter is to address a fundamental problem in the national

team. The quality of opportunity afforded to black African

players…Historically, and more recently, the call-up has acted to erode the

black cricketers’ human dignity and self-esteem. They have been pushed to the

margins to become “hewers of wood and drawers of water”. There is a

mistrust of black African players’ ability to perform and assume responsibility

and be charged with leadership roles…At the national level, black African

players have become political pawns and official drinks carriers… (City Press,

November 16, 2015).

The CSA hierarchy seemed flummoxed, announcing that while they ‘regard the issues as serious’, they were not happy that ‘a letter of this nature finds its way into the media because we do not solve issues in the media’ (Sunday Times, November 15, 2015). Subsequent to this, and the revelation that in the 24 years since unity, of the 87 Test

players, only seven have been Black African, the then CEO of CSA Haroon Lorgat conceded

that: ‘We waited for the system to produce players rather than actively producing them’

(Cricinfo, December 17, 2015). Lorgat indicated that henceforth, franchises would have to

have six Black players, of whom three must be Black Africans. Of this pool, he hoped future

Proteas would emerge. CSA is also hoping to develop ‘focus schools’ in townships with top

class facilities. It’s a tough call in a society with deepening inequality, mounting levels of unemployment and the persistence of apartheid geographies. In this context, Lorgat explains:

You might have a lot of talent in the community but they are also challenged

by the need to do some basic things, like putting food on the table, walking

miles to educate themselves, walking miles to go and practice and play the

game of cricket (Cricinfo, December 17, 2015).

A task team was eventually set up under the chairpersonship of Advocate Norman Arendse.

The team dealt first with the lightning rod that sparked the letter; the non-selection of Khaya

Zondo during the 2015 tour of India. The task team found that:

in relation to the Khaya Zondo matter, it is self-evident that having initially

included him in the Proteas Fifth ODI Eleven, he was subsequently excluded.

Both his initial inclusion, and subsequent exclusion, were motivated on what

was described as “cricketing grounds”. What is clearly apparent however, is

that selection protocols and policy were not adhered to, and we find that his

exclusion from the Fifth ODI Protea Team in Mumbai on 25 October 2015,

was unfair, and was contrary to the CSA Selection Policy (CSA 2015).

At a general level, the task team found:

evidences that generic Black players, and Black African players have

consistently undertaken National Tours without being given an opportunity to

play… There does…appear to be a mind-set which indicates a mistrust of

Black African players particularly when it comes to the Proteas playing in

high-profile matches or in so-called “series’ deciders”, like the Fifth ODI

match in Mumbai on25 October 2015 (CSA 2015).

The History of the Present

Writing in 2001, sport journalist Luke Alfred predicted:

We are now close to the time when angry debates about the racial composition

of the national team are thankfully a thing of the past; we are at a time when

the UCB are able to give the impression that they truly are a united cricket

board; we are at a time when some of the agonies of readmission, the agonies

of experiencing the whole wide world and its temptations for the first time, are

nearly at an end (Alfred 2001, 9).

A decade and a half later, the debate not only about composition, but also about the broader

terms of the political settlement, is just beginning. The newest sensation in South African

cricket is . A Black African to use South African parlance, Rabada in August

2018 was declared Wisden Golden Boy. This is an award given to the best male cricketer 23

years or under. Rabada is the youngest cricketer to reach 150 Test wickets and is ranked the second best bowler in the world. While he is hailed as an example of the changes wrought in

South African cricket, Rabada is not a product of Cricket South Africa’s development

programme. Rabada went to the elite St. Stithians school in , whose fees range

from R60,000 to R100,000. It is the familiar story-line of most Black South African cricketers; very few come from state schools located in townships. Despite Rabada’s pedigree, coming from a school that has traditionally produced top international cricketers and being an incredibly successful member of the country’s Under-19 team, his ability was still under question.

When Kagiso Rabada was named as one of the 2015 South African Cricket Annual cricketers of the year, one would think that this honour would be one of celebration. Writing in the 2015 annual however, sports journalist Heinz Schenk, had this to report on the award:

the buzzing, right-arm quick bowler has become a beacon of Cricket South

Africa’s renewed transformation drive. It is understandable that South African

cricket needs to produce another ethnic gem like , while there’s

also an undercurrent of pressure from government…Rabada has been central

in that drive, being fast-tracked into all of the Proteas’ three squads…It’s all

very well marvelling at his meteoric rise, but it would be foolhardy not to

address what unavoidably is the elephant in the room. Is Rabada a man

earmarked for political expedience? (2015, 15).

All the code-words are there; ‘transformation drive… ethnic gem … undercurrent of pressure from government… fast-tracked… meteoric rise… political expedience’.

Was Rabada’s selection a result of the need to ‘produce another ethnic gem like

Makhaya Ntini’ or ‘political expedience’ or ‘quotas’, or was it that Rabada was simply good enough to play for his country? And do any of the selection motives matter if the result is to unearth such polished achievement? We never really get the answer, but it is startling that a young player handed the accolade of one of the country’s players of the year is confronted with this narrative in an article that is supposed to celebrate his excellence.

As if to exemplify the difference in treatment, there are no such questions for the

White player Rilee Rossouw, another cricketer of the year, profiled by Neil Manthorp in the self-same annual. This, despite the fact that Rossouw started his international career with two ducks, ‘two more ducks in New Zealand gave Rossouw four in six , which became five in ten when he was dismissed against the West Indies’. Instead, we are reminded that

Sachin Tendulkar started his international one day career with two ducks, a story that

Manthorp repeats, adding ‘both men scored exactly 36 in their third matches’ (2015, 17).

Rossouw is linked with Tendulkar, one of the greatest exponents of the game, and Rabada with political expediency. While Rabada was, and always will be under scrutiny, Manthorp tells us that ‘Rossouw had been identified as a player with the technique and temperament for the biggest stage and only cursory thought was given to discarding him’ (2015, 17).

In looking at the story of Rabada, one can quickly discern how the old chestnuts of race and class are still with us. While the gains made from the days of apartheid cricket are plain to see, one still has a deep sense that commitments made at the onset of South Africa’s admittance into world cricket about taking the game to grassroots level, about firing up cricket in township schools, about redressing past inequalities have been stalled. Instead, the game still relies on private schools to provide cricketers for the national team. Nothing exemplifies this more than Kagiso Rabada. Alongside this, the emergence of the Indian

Premier League (IPL) has loosened talented cricketers from the national team to make a more lucrative living abroad. Documents that once talked about redressing class and race imbalances now talk about new revenue streams and balancing the books, rather than levelling the playing fields.

Lewis Manthata, in his interviews with budding Black African cricketers in , found ‘that there has been a very slow progression of Black cricketers in the province since

1992’ based on a range of factors (Manthata 2018, 10-11). Thus, Manthata (2018, 10-11) makes the following observations in relation to structural challenges facing South African cricket, with Table 1 presenting a compelling picture of the continuing effects of race, class and place.

Table 1. Showing the continuing effects of race, class and place based on factors and content. Factor Content Socio-Economic Interviewees pointed out those black African players were always under pressure to support the family structure, more so after leaving school. The demands of the family are that most players had to provide for their younger siblings as most of the family members were unemployed. The young player who is drafted into the amateur systems is now seen as a ‘source of income’ by the family and the community. Quality of Most of the elite coaches in the system are white, and have not given Opportunities the necessary support to African players who mostly come from challenged backgrounds and environments. The respondents pointed out that most semi- professional coaches were most likely going to bat a top order batsman in the lower middle order because there is a lack of trust in the abilities and the skill levels of black players. Structures and An u14 cricketer at a traditional cricket school is likely to play 100 pipeline of schoolboy games in a year. This excludes club games, tours (both development overseas and local) and school festivals. On the other hand, township cricketers only play cricket games during trial games arranged by different provinces to choose representative teams. At most, township cricketers are more likely to play less than ten official games throughout the year. The lack of facilities in local grounds do not allow inter-township matches to take place. Most respondents pointed out that the maintenance of grounds and facilities in the townships is not seen as a priority by the local municipalities, and the quality of coaches is not very good to produce cricketers who will compete at a higher level. Team Culture in White middle class men who speak English, and unaccommodating to Cricket Black players from the township conduct most coaching sessions at provincial level. This cultural misunderstanding founded in the historical narrative of South Africa has produced a plethora of stereotypes and misconceptions about black players, who are clearly misunderstood most of the time. The respondents point out that they are expected to assimilate a team culture, which was one- dimensional and biased to the white culture. This has entrenched a horrid culture of black cricketers who have battled with their identities, or who have suffered a cricket identity crisis leading up to an inferiority complex affecting their ability to perform. Quota System Both African coaches and players have mixed feelings about the quota system. Most players from the model C system feel that the system undermined their ability, and degraded them before their white counterparts who were at school with them. They hated the idea that they were making teams because of their skin colour, not their ability and skill level. On the other hand, retired players reflected on their experiences and believed that the coaching structures and the cricket environment in general suited the agenda of white cricketers, therefore the only mechanism to institute and force change is the quota system (source: Manthata 2018, 10-11)

Race, Class and Place: Grassroots Cricket

Class apartheid can be witnessed in the very geography of South African cities and

reinforced by a bountifully endowed private and semi-private school system, ranged against township schools which struggle with huge numbers and largely non-existent sporting facilities. The story of Khotso “Sonnyboy” Letshele in 2001 presented the struggles associated with playing cricket.

To reiterate, cricket also requires a large amount of investment in time and money.

This includes the prohibitive cost of equipment and facilities, as well as time devoted to organising and playing the game (largely unpaid, provided by parents, teachers, assistant coaches and volunteer umpires). It takes exceptional talent and enormous sacrifices to make the transition from social participation to career level, especially when one is batting against kids who go to private schools, have access to private coaching and have no problems about resources. It is sobering in this regard to learn that out of the 26,716 schools (primary and secondary), 7,354 are without water and 10,000 without electricity (Jordaan 2015, 7). This divide, it would appear, is widening. Minister Angie Motshekga has spoken proudly about the Accelerated School Infrastructure Initiative (ASIDI). But to date, this initiative is

remarkable for its inability to come anywhere near the targets it set out to achieve. For

example, of the 620 schools targeted to receive electricity, not one received it (see Mail and

Guardian, March 23, 2018).

Not only does the lack of basic facilities affect ability to learn, but the chronic lack of resources means that there is little chance for extra-curricular school activities to flourish. It is instructive to remember that international tours were touted as an important part of a broader development programme, with money derived from these tours used to take the game into previously disadvantaged areas. Alongside this, it was felt that role models like the

Proteas fast bowler Makhaya Ntini, who performed at the highest levels, would serve as catalysts for attracting Black African youngsters to the game. But the emphasis on broad- based development came to be increasingly challenged by the siphoning off of Black players into selected White schools and then into high performance centres. The balance has arguably shifted towards the production of showpiece players for the national squad, at the expense of grassroots cricket. The continuing lack of facilities in black townships serves to reinforce this argument. In 2015, it was reported that in the Province of KZN, there was just one turf in the Black African townships (Naidoo 2015).

Who’s in, Who’s out

The game has made great strides in getting Black administrators into central decision- making arenas. However, the track-record of these fabulously paid administrators, like Black

Economic Empowerment (BEE) deals, is unlikely to bring about a fundamental transformation of the game that places at its core a vibrant and well-resourced cricketing culture in clubs and schools in Black townships. In most instances, administrators are more involved in positioning themselves in the same fashion as their BEE counterparts, with the consequent creation of a small, fabulously wealthy elite Black African class, while inequality within the wider African population persists and even increases. As Michael Macdonald points out, BEE not only ‘legitmate(s) South Africa’s political economy, but it also provides business, the ANC, and leading tendencies within the ANC with ancillary benefits…Some

Africans are becoming rich, economic inequality is deemed not to be a racial problem, an immense advantage to the established bourgeoisie’ (MacDonald 2004, 646).

Just over two decades since the ANC came to power, this model has come under sustained attack, forcing the Party to also shift increasingly towards the language of an exclusionary Africanism. As Achille Mbembe puts it:

Rainbowism and its most important articles of faith—truth, reconciliation and

forgiveness—is fading. Reduced to a totemic commodity figure mostly

destined to assuage whites’ fears, Nelson Mandela is on trial. Some of the key

pillars of the 1994 dispensation—a constitutional democracy, a market

society, non-racialism—are also under scrutiny. They are now perceived as

disabling devices with no animating potency, at least in the eyes of those who

are determined to no longer wait. We are past the time of promises. Now is the

time to settle accounts (Mbembe 2015).

In this context, Max Jordaan, a key administrator in CSA, asked a haunting question about the game at a seminar in November 2015: ‘Can we manage our future’? (2015, 4). In managing the future, the CSA is caught in challenges that are internal to the game and the impulses of the broader body politic. The emergence of the IPL and other global T20 leagues has meant that top players can earn lucrative amounts of money without needing to play for the national team. An example of this is arguably the country’s leading batsman A.B. de Villiers who “retired” from the national team but continues to play in the IPL. As White

players feel pushed out by racial quotas, they will increasingly find other fields to ply their trade. One of those places is England where many accomplished cricketers ply their trade in the County circuit (Desai, 2018).

The ANC government demands racial targets get met on the pain of being denied international tournaments despite their own inability to meet targets in providing basic facilities in schools and supporting sport in townships. In terms of pressure from the broader

body politic, nothing exemplifies this more than when, at the end of April 2016, then Minister of Sport Fikile Mbalula suspended the right of SA Rugby, Cricket, Athletics and Netball from bidding for international tournaments, for ‘not meeting their own set transformation targets with immediate effect’ (The Mercury, April 26, 2016).

While successive Ministers of Sport demand ‘quality of opportunity’, many would argue this is rich coming from a government whose own record of creating quality education is a sorry one. As highlighted earlier, the Minister of Basic Education Angie Motshekga revealed that ‘educational attainment in SA’s poorest schools is falling.’ These are schools for Black pupils where the ANC government is admitting failure and children are leaving less skilled than their forebears. In fact, the Department of Education recently lost a judgement filed by Equal Education in an Eastern Cape High Court whereby they have been found negligent in providing basic school infrastructure and forcing them to ‘fix the “loopholes” in the legislated minimum norms and standards for school infrastructure’ Alongside this,

Statistics SA announced in 2018 that, of the 10.3 million persons aged 15–24 years that

‘32.4% (approximately 3.3 million) were not in employment, education or training’ with youths accounting for 63.5% of unemployed persons. (Statistics SA 2018).

Conclusion According to Koch (2017), many scholars have used sports to illustrate political and

social challenges, such as authoritarianism as well as race and class inequalities, the focus of

this paper. However, with a few exceptions, “geographers have been absent from these

discussions” (Koch, 2017: 4). This paper has illustrated the influence of politics on sport, and sport on politics, with specific reference to cricket in the apartheid and post-apartheid eras.

This paper also addresses Koch’s (2017: 3) concern that it is “also a struggle to find

geographers working on sports-related issues from Africa, for instance”.

The different facets of sport (participation, competition, performance, administration,

resources) are “indeed key locations of contestatory politics” (Rensmann, 2015:127).

According to Donnelly (1996: 221), “sport, by its very nature, produces and reveals

inequalities”. As illustrated in this paper, this has been especially so in South Africa both in

the apartheid and post-apartheid eras. Superficial transformation in terms of player

development and racial integration has taken place in South African sport. There has not been

much development that has taken place in terms of supporting previously disadvantaged racial groups in terms of adequate coaching, resources and facilities, and the race-class divide is widening since 1994.

It is evident that in South Africa, training, practicing or playing cricket in different places like in township ghettos or elite, private schools, “are distinguished from each other through the operation of the relations of power that construct boundaries around them, creating spaces with certain meanings in which some relationships are facilitated, and others are discouraged” (Vertinsky, 2001:12). This was reinforced by the socio-spatial configuration of apartheid boundaries which remain entrenched in the democratic era, and have been reinforced by class divisions, confining the majority of blacks to township ghettos, with limited opportunities for participating and developing prowess in any sport, and this was illustrated in this paper with respect to cricket. At a macro socio-spatial level, this also reflected the failure of urban policies since 1994, which have “reinforced rather than

confronted apartheid geography” (Brenner, 2000:87).

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